POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek
- keithgood838
- Posts: 2478
- Joined: Sun Feb 10, 2008 6:30 pm
Re: POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek
A topical addendum to Matt Monro's novel hit song:
WE'RE GONNA CHANGE THE WORLD
Rife across the Arab region,
the people are protesting;
marching for democracy
in something called the Arab spring.
They tasted the fruits of freedom
served up by the internet;
they savoured the taste and scoffed
at the hard-line tyrant set
while holding the flame of truth aloft:
Come with them, run with them,
they're gonna change the world;
regimes will fall, like Berlin's Wall,
as pride banners are unfurled -
they're gonna change the world.
Keith Good
WE'RE GONNA CHANGE THE WORLD
Rife across the Arab region,
the people are protesting;
marching for democracy
in something called the Arab spring.
They tasted the fruits of freedom
served up by the internet;
they savoured the taste and scoffed
at the hard-line tyrant set
while holding the flame of truth aloft:
Come with them, run with them,
they're gonna change the world;
regimes will fall, like Berlin's Wall,
as pride banners are unfurled -
they're gonna change the world.
Keith Good
- keithgood838
- Posts: 2478
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Re: POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek
TABLES TURNED
Talk about 'hoist by your own petard';
talk of 'the biter bit';
those who pilloried their prey hard
are now paying the dock a visit:
instead of reporting on wrongdoing
they are the subjects of it.

Talk about 'hoist by your own petard';
talk of 'the biter bit';
those who pilloried their prey hard
are now paying the dock a visit:
instead of reporting on wrongdoing
they are the subjects of it.

- keithgood838
- Posts: 2478
- Joined: Sun Feb 10, 2008 6:30 pm
Re: POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek
Three Brits are favourites to win the Open,
Rory, Luke and Lee; subject to the sporting
gods' volatility:
TWO OF A KIND
(Le Roi est mort, vive le Roi!)
By earnest cognoscenti we are told
that when the divine designer created Seve
He discarded the mould.
I remain unconvinced.
With due deference to the maestro,
I maintain that a strong case
for a striking pretender to his podium place
can clearly be evinced:
the copious youth-coiffeured hair;
the same eyes-reaching smile,
by temperament a cavalier;
deft yet swashbuckling style.
A God-fearing, own-grounded boy -
our Rory McIlroy.
Keith Good
Rory, Luke and Lee; subject to the sporting
gods' volatility:
TWO OF A KIND
(Le Roi est mort, vive le Roi!)
By earnest cognoscenti we are told
that when the divine designer created Seve
He discarded the mould.
I remain unconvinced.
With due deference to the maestro,
I maintain that a strong case
for a striking pretender to his podium place
can clearly be evinced:
the copious youth-coiffeured hair;
the same eyes-reaching smile,
by temperament a cavalier;
deft yet swashbuckling style.
A God-fearing, own-grounded boy -
our Rory McIlroy.
Keith Good
Last edited by keithgood838 on Mon Jul 18, 2011 10:27 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek
It has all gone rather pear shaped for all three 

"My Tears Will Fall Now That You're Gone,
I Can't Help But Cry, But I Must Go On"
I Can't Help But Cry, But I Must Go On"

- keithgood838
- Posts: 2478
- Joined: Sun Feb 10, 2008 6:30 pm
Re: POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek
Northern Ireland can now boast three major champions;
I'm particularly pleased for Darren Clarke, a fine golfer
and even finer person.

I'm particularly pleased for Darren Clarke, a fine golfer
and even finer person.

Re: POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek
Yes Keith, well done to Darren Clarke! 

Re: POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek
Darren never put a foot wrong today, he was full of confidence during his round
...............maybe he knew his late wife was looking down on him, helping him on his way to win the Claret Jug




"My Tears Will Fall Now That You're Gone,
I Can't Help But Cry, But I Must Go On"
I Can't Help But Cry, But I Must Go On"

- keithgood838
- Posts: 2478
- Joined: Sun Feb 10, 2008 6:30 pm
Re: POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek
FAVOURITISM
The gift-showering golfing gods
are changeably beguiling;
sure it is Ulstermen on whom
they are currently smiling:
sip some black ambrosia to Darren Clarke -
after 20 years, makes his major mark.

The gift-showering golfing gods
are changeably beguiling;
sure it is Ulstermen on whom
they are currently smiling:
sip some black ambrosia to Darren Clarke -
after 20 years, makes his major mark.

Last edited by keithgood838 on Tue Jul 19, 2011 11:42 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek
It sounded as though Darren celebrated his victory well Keith. He was interviewed earlier today a little ruddy faced, to say he had enjoyed several pints of the black stuff and several glasses of red wine up until twenty minutes prior to the interview. 

- keithgood838
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- Joined: Sun Feb 10, 2008 6:30 pm
Re: POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek
Yes Marian, Darren's success warmed the hearts of people
everywhere; he and his family are really likeable people.
Mark Simpson, the BBC's Northern Ireland correspondent,
promulgated the theory that the key to the provinces's
achievements is playing the game in all weathers. I think there is more
to it than that because Ulster's weather is typical of the whole country.
I may post some of my lines on the subject of Northern Ireland's troubles.
Keith
everywhere; he and his family are really likeable people.
Mark Simpson, the BBC's Northern Ireland correspondent,
promulgated the theory that the key to the provinces's
achievements is playing the game in all weathers. I think there is more
to it than that because Ulster's weather is typical of the whole country.
I may post some of my lines on the subject of Northern Ireland's troubles.
Keith
- keithgood838
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- Joined: Sun Feb 10, 2008 6:30 pm
Re: POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek
I have never wavered in my belief that eventual peace
would come to Ireland's troubled northern province
(its golfers' recent successes contribute to this process).
My reasons are twofold: one stems from the example
of my own home town of Bandon, in county Cork, where
the Anglican tradition is not merely tolerated, but is woven
into the fabric of the community.
My other reason relates to another town, Rossnowlagh
in Donegal, also in the Republic, where the local people
come out in droves to enjoy the annual passing parade
of visiting Orange Order marchers. I had the following verse
published in March 1985:
IRELAND
Is a tapestry
of emerald-green sewn on a stardust sea,
whose splendour has been tar-brushed
by civil war's grotesque, blind enmity.
Ireland is a pity;
her lovely countenance is lined by fears.
Benighted Belfast City,
defaced by bomb and bullet through the years.
Ireland is a victim
through centuries of Anglo-Saxon need
to conquer other nations
who reap the harvest of its violent seed.
Ireland has a Saviour
who sent His Son to die upon the cross;
His suffering was noble.
His sacrifice no vain, inglorious loss.
The Garvaghy Road in Portadown is the most volatile
flashpoint every 12 July. Total peace will not finally
be established until the bigoted extremists are weaned
off their addiction to sectarian violence, and the marching
season is conducted with greater sensitivity:
PRAYER
Raise a preservation plaque
to the Orange Order,
set not in red, or green,
but in love's pure gold -
to welcome the province back
into Erin's fold.
Let truth's light be seen
and reflected by every recorder,
to all of Ulster's doubters
here and abroad,
that locals gathered en masse
to cheer the marchers
who strode to the drums of peace
down the Garvaghy Road ...
Keith Good
would come to Ireland's troubled northern province
(its golfers' recent successes contribute to this process).
My reasons are twofold: one stems from the example
of my own home town of Bandon, in county Cork, where
the Anglican tradition is not merely tolerated, but is woven
into the fabric of the community.
My other reason relates to another town, Rossnowlagh
in Donegal, also in the Republic, where the local people
come out in droves to enjoy the annual passing parade
of visiting Orange Order marchers. I had the following verse
published in March 1985:
IRELAND
Is a tapestry
of emerald-green sewn on a stardust sea,
whose splendour has been tar-brushed
by civil war's grotesque, blind enmity.
Ireland is a pity;
her lovely countenance is lined by fears.
Benighted Belfast City,
defaced by bomb and bullet through the years.
Ireland is a victim
through centuries of Anglo-Saxon need
to conquer other nations
who reap the harvest of its violent seed.
Ireland has a Saviour
who sent His Son to die upon the cross;
His suffering was noble.
His sacrifice no vain, inglorious loss.
The Garvaghy Road in Portadown is the most volatile
flashpoint every 12 July. Total peace will not finally
be established until the bigoted extremists are weaned
off their addiction to sectarian violence, and the marching
season is conducted with greater sensitivity:
PRAYER
Raise a preservation plaque
to the Orange Order,
set not in red, or green,
but in love's pure gold -
to welcome the province back
into Erin's fold.
Let truth's light be seen
and reflected by every recorder,
to all of Ulster's doubters
here and abroad,
that locals gathered en masse
to cheer the marchers
who strode to the drums of peace
down the Garvaghy Road ...
Keith Good
Re: POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek
Very thought provoking Keith. 

- keithgood838
- Posts: 2478
- Joined: Sun Feb 10, 2008 6:30 pm
Re: POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek
Thank you Marian; I now look forward to getting
off my gravitas soapbox and resuming my contributions
to Today's Joke.
However, in the Ireland context, it's worth remembering
that Matt, as a personable performer, is still held in the highest
possible esteem in the emerald isle; I can vouch for how much
they love him in my neck of the woods.
Keith
off my gravitas soapbox and resuming my contributions
to Today's Joke.
However, in the Ireland context, it's worth remembering
that Matt, as a personable performer, is still held in the highest
possible esteem in the emerald isle; I can vouch for how much
they love him in my neck of the woods.
Keith
- keithgood838
- Posts: 2478
- Joined: Sun Feb 10, 2008 6:30 pm
Re: POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek
WE'LL MEET AGAIN
It's comforting to see
that in fan forums we
speak of our Matt in the present tense;
it is because we know
that when dear Matt did go,
it was in a temporary sense.
Keith Good
It's comforting to see
that in fan forums we
speak of our Matt in the present tense;
it is because we know
that when dear Matt did go,
it was in a temporary sense.
Keith Good
- keithgood838
- Posts: 2478
- Joined: Sun Feb 10, 2008 6:30 pm
Re: POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek
MATERNAL MUSIC
My mother could command the rapt
attention of a throng;
sometimes we two comprised the entire
choir at evensong;
it pains still to know that she would
prematurely go
before surviving love could share
the mead of Matt Monro.
The lines appended hereto are designed
to convey poetry's impact on the mind.
Keith Good
PIANO
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.
In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.
So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance. I weep like a child for the past.
D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930)
My mother could command the rapt
attention of a throng;
sometimes we two comprised the entire
choir at evensong;
it pains still to know that she would
prematurely go
before surviving love could share
the mead of Matt Monro.
The lines appended hereto are designed
to convey poetry's impact on the mind.
Keith Good
PIANO
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.
In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.
So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance. I weep like a child for the past.
D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930)